


Show me how pretty the world is

by failurebydesign



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 03:37:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16360007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/failurebydesign/pseuds/failurebydesign
Summary: Tyson’s visit isn’t entirely a surprise.The first time he brought it up was over the summer, a group of them slightly tipsy, gathered around the bonfire at the Fabbro’s lake house. He had casually mentioned how much he’d love to see Boston in the fall— how Dante talks about it all of the time and photos never seemed to do it justice.( Or Tyson surprises Dante at college during the fall. )





	Show me how pretty the world is

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, this is a locked work for obvious reasons. If your name is mentioned here, please do not continue on. This is simply a work of fiction and in no way implies anything about anyones sexual orientation, etc. In other words, this is just for fun.
> 
> Just a short and sweet little character study.
> 
> Thank you to glazedsun for betaing and anyone who inspired, cheerleaded or read this along the way.
> 
> Though not neccesary, it helps if you watch [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KQwEFCUbGGA&t=3s) video first, or are at least familiar with it. (Skip it until the end if you don't want any spoilers!) I do want to stated this does mention Tyson's colorblindness in case anyone is uncomfortable with that sort of thing.

Dante loves Boston in the fall.

He loves the cool, crisp air, the way the leaves line the trees— golden, red and yellow, how they float to the ground and crunch beneath his feet. He loves the streets lined with colorful gourds and string lights that adorn the trees of the nearby houses. 

He loves that fall means the tail end of baseball at Fenway Park, holidays and hockey season. It means learning to really appreciate the beauty of the sights and smells before it's all covered in a blanket of white.

After practice lets out, Dante walks down the streets, checking his phone when it vibrates in his pocket. He and Tyson talk often, but it’s not the usual hello. He stops in his tracks to read it again, as if making sure he understood correctly.

_I’m here!_

The _here_ could mean so many things.

Someone walks by, bumps Dante’s shoulder and he nearly jumps. Just one of his teammates, snickering when he passes him on the street. Any other time he would laugh— he’d stick his tongue out or come up with something witty. Not this time.

Tyson is… _wait, here here?_ Dante types back just that, hitting send.

..

Tyson’s visit isn’t entirely a surprise.

The first time he brought it up was over the summer, a group of them slightly tipsy, gathered around the bonfire at the Fabbro’s lake house. He had casually mentioned how much he’d love to see Boston in the fall— how Dante talks about it all of the time and photos never seemed to do it justice.

Dante remembers shrugging it off with a, “Sure.” He remembers Tyson grabbing his arm, whispering a soft promise, swearing that somehow, someway he’d make it work. Dante just nodded, smiled and passed out another round of beers.

“I told you I’d come,” Tyson says, hands shoved into his coat pockets. He has a small stretch of days off and while Dante doesn’t know how he worked _this_ out, he doesn’t question it. He’s happy.

“I’m not mad.” Dante laughs, pulling his friend into a hug. It’s been an adjustment— going from spending almost every day and night together to, well, _not_.

Tyson’s dressed a little less prepared for the weather— pants, coat unbuttoned and a simple grey t-shirt underneath— though Dante chalks it up to his being far too acclimated to the Denver weather. Still, he looks well-dressed and far more put together than Dante in his baggy sweatpants and oversized BU hoodie. In his defense, his last lecture runs far too early and way too long to worry about being the best dressed man on campus. 

“It’s snowing in Denver,” Tyson says, as if he’s just read his mind.

“Maybe I’ll see it sometime,” Dante says back, casually. He doesn’t think he’ll actually get there in the winter. Not when he’s still just a Sophomore with his NHL contract up in the air. Still, it’s a nice thought— ankle deep in fresh, white snow, fat, falling snowflakes and ending it all by warming his hands in front of the fireplace. 

Tyson grins, turning his head, as if looking at something. It’s the trees. “Speaking of, I was promised a tour of Boston in the fall.”

“How long do you have?” Dante wraps his arms around himself when a gust of wind sweeps a few leaves past his feet. “I could take you to Red Apple Farm for some cider donuts.” He smiles, reminiscing about the sweet, mini donuts, soft and cakey on the inside, slightly crunchy and sugar-coated on the outside. It’s something he doesn’t indulge in frequently, but with Tyson in town, it’s an exception worth making.

“Long enough for some donuts and a walk around the market,” Tyson says, finally pulling his jacket closed. “And the park. Can we see the park?”

“We can see the park.” Dante’s smile is soft, but his stomach fights with that thought, rumbling. “But I’m really hungry, so how about we get something to eat first?”

“Donuts?” Tyson’s eyes light up.

“ _Lunch_ ,” Dante says with a laugh. “Then donuts.”

They walk down the street, side by side, Tyson taking in the sights and sounds. Dante points out a few buildings— one where he has a class, another where he stops for coffee, his room, where they stop briefly to drop off Tyson’s luggage. His room is messy, but it’s an expected visit. If Dante remembers correctly, and he always does, Tyson is a little bit of a mess, too. 

When they continue on, Dante resumes pointing out a few more places that have become like home to him, including the small diner where he and some of his teammates go on occasion. There’s nothing about it that says fall and definitely nothing about it that says Boston and yet, Tyson prodding, it’s where they end up.

“The food isn’t _that_ good,” Dante says when they sit down, graciously taking a menu from the waitress.

Tyson shrugs out of his coat, smiling when he’s handed a menu of his own. For a place that’s located smack-dab in the middle of Boston, it’s one of the few places that seems to be lacking many fresh fish options. The way Tyson chews on the bottom of his lip makes Dante laugh, figuring he was right in hinting at the not-so-great menu.

“What do you usually get?” Tyson peers over the menu, eyes lowering back to it. “They literally fry anything and put it on a burger. You don’t eat this stuff before a game, do you?”

Dante _doesn’t_ , though to be fair, there’s some healthy options there, too. Still Dante knows that no one in the area goes to a diner for some wilted, pre-bagged salad on a plate. They go for greasy burgers on the weekends, breakfast burritos after a night out or a one off milkshake as a celebratory reward. 

“I told you this was like, the worst place to go.” Dante laughs, lowering Tyson’s menu, finger skimming over it. When he points to the burgers, he grins. “But if you’re here, you have to get a burger. You’ll be missing out otherwise.”

“Okay,” Tyson says with a smile. “Burger it is.”

..

It’s cooler after lunch, the sun hiding behind large, fluffy clouds. It peeks out in small slivers, leaving a golden trail of light that seems to point in the direction of the city. They aren’t walking, of course, but Dante considers it a sign— that they’re being led there by some higher being.

“Are we going to the park now?” Tyson walks along Dante’s side, oblivious to where they’re headed. To be fair, Dante doesn’t have a gameplan or a clear picture in his mind, figuring they’d walk to the first intersection and catch a cab to the market.

“I thought you wanted donuts,” Dante says, turning to Tyson once they reach the corner. It’s the last thing on his mind, really, but the way Tyson’s eyes light up tell him there’s no way out of this one. 

Tyson smiles sheepishly, nodding. “We can take them to a park?”

“Perfect,” Dante agrees. It’ll be a nice reprieve for his stomach. He hails the next cab to appear and it’s only a short drive from one end of town to the other. The traffic, though slightly annoying, is the worst part but even that doesn’t seem to phase Tyson. It gives them more time to talk.

Dante learns that Tyson is there for just a few days— long enough to celebrate the turning of the seasons before hopping on a plane to the next city. It’s a bit non-traditional, teams typically sticking together throughout the season and he’s still not sure how he worked it all out, but Tyson just shrugs it off, smile never fading.

“How’s class?” Tyson nudges Dante’s side and it jolts him out of the daydream he doesn’t realize he’s entered.

“It’s class,” Dante says with a laugh. “How interesting do you think it could possibly be?”

“Fair.” Tyson laughs back. “There’s a reason I never finished.”

“Just went to the wrong place,” Dante teases. He knows why Tyson picked UND, though he’d be lying if he never dreamt of the two of them playing together for four more years. 

“I did _not_ ,” Tyson hums, though he’s very clearly not offended. “You should have went to UND.”

Dante snorts, because he thought about it, briefly, but it was always Boston that seemed to call him home. “And what? Have you leave me there? Nah.”

“I’m here now,” Tyson says matter-of-factly and though it’s not the same thing, it warms Dante’s heart.

“You are.” Dante taps Tyson on the knee, laugh soft when the cab parks. He reaches for his wallet but this time, Tyson’s faster, handing a few bills to the driver. 

“You bought lunch,” Tyson says, slipping out of the taxi, meeting Dante on the curb. When the car speeds off, they’re left there with a cloud of exhaust, slightly chilly and smiling.

The market is the busiest Dante has ever seen it— patrons shoving through the door every which way, children inside running and laughing, candy apples and various treats in hand. Dante tugs the bottom of Tyson’s shirt as he veers to the left. “It’s this way.”

Tyson seems to love the atmosphere, laughing when they weave around people, walking fast to stay a step behind Dante. Luckily, the Red Apple Farm booth is close. It’s one of the busiest there, a woman handing a donut to a small child.

“These smell so good,” Tyson says, craning his neck to get a better view.

“One of Boston’s greatest.” Dante slips into the long line, hopeful they’ll get their chance before they’ve all sold out. It’s been known to happen and he understands why— they’re a highly coveted treat. “That’s what I’ve read, anyway.”

“You read?” Tyson jokes, quickly distracted by what Dante knows is the sweet, warming scent of freshly made donuts.

Dante smiles, almost tasting the donuts. He’s so lulled by the promise of apples and sugar that he almost overlooks Tyson’s slight, though friendly, jab at him. “College,” he has to remind Tyson, failing at holding back a laugh.

Fifteen minutes and a whole lot of teasing is a long time to wait for fresh donuts. Dante happily retrieves their purchase and while they leave the market sipping on cider, they decide to save the donuts for the park. 

“It’s a great idea,” Tyson says, despite Dante warning him that they might not be warm by the time they make it to Boston Common. It’s a fifteen minute walk at _least_. “We can reheat one in your room later.”

Dante’s brain sort of short-circuits at the _in your room_ comment which stutters his speech and makes him forget to remind Tyson that Red Apple Farm donuts are _not_ meant to be reheated. Not in his shitty microwave, anyway. “Yeah,” is all he can manage and wonders when he got so… like _this_ around Tyson.

So Dante gives in. Tyson wants the full experience and even though it’s cold, fifteen minutes isn’t too far to walk. Even though the walk itself isn’t too exciting, Dante finds it hard to say no. Tyson is just about bouncing with anticipation when they begin their walk.

He remembers his first year at BU how it all was new and exciting to him, too, though Dante doesn’t think he’s ever come as remotely excited about Boston Common as Tyson, even when the ground freezes and he’s able to take to the ice there, too.

There’s a young innocence in Tyson’s eyes. It’s amusing, it’s oddly charming and when Dante really thinks about it, Tyson’s smile and all, his stomach swoops oddly, silently promising to show Tyson as much of Boston as he’s able.

..

“This is it,” Dante says when they walk to the foot of Boston Common. It’s nothing in comparison to some of the places they’ve seen in their own yard, though Dante wouldn’t dream of comparing Boston to British Columbia. 

Tyson looks into the distance and though his reaction isn’t one of utmost awe, Dante knows it’s because the park, as a whole, is a little underwhelming. Still, he smiles, pointing to a cluster of trees in the distance, claiming a spot as his own. “There.”

“There?” Dante asks, eyebrow raised, but doesn’t question it much more than that, but instead setting off towards the trees. He knows there’s a bench further along, past the group of trees, knows Tyson doesn’t know this, but figures it’ll be a nice surprise for later, when they park there to share their sugary treats.

“That’ll work,” Tyson says with a grin, following close behind.

Dante doesn’t know exactly _what_ will work— it’s just a bunch of trees. “What are you planning on doing?”

“You said you’d show me the leaves.” Tyson points to the trees and Dante knows he can’t tell how bright they are— that a few are still green, but most of them have turned vivid, colors blending from yellow to deep, vibrant red.

It’s a conversation that Dante remembers well, having described the park to Tyson in great detail, telling him all about the colors and smells— only half of which he could truly experience. He feels his stomach drop slightly when the reach the trees, though Tyson never once stops smiling.

“So this is them,” Dante says a bit awkwardly. “Do you want me to tell you about them?”

“I want to see them myself.” Tyson is adamant.

Dante furrows his brows because he knows Tyson’s always _wanted_ to see them, knowing all too well that he can’t. He can appreciate how the trees, once full, are beginning to fall bare— how some of the leaves around them fall to the ground in a delicate dance. What Dante knows is that for him, they’re bright and warming— for Tyson, they’re always the same, never changing— just there one minute and not the next.

He doesn’t know what to say when he has this realization. It makes him _sad_.

“Hey,” Tyson says, pulling a pair of glasses out of his pocket unlike anything Dante has seen before. These, he knows, he’s seen once, in a video. They’re the ones Tyson’s team gave him— the same ones he used to see colors for the very first time.

When he puts them on, Dante opens his mouth, wordless.

“It’s okay to laugh.” Tyson shrugs, not yet looking up at the trees. “I know how they look.”

“I won’t laugh,” Dante says, smiling instead. “Not about these, anyway. You give me enough other material that’ll last me all semester.”

“Shut up,” Tyson laughs back, exhaling. “You promised to show me, so show me.”

Dante knows it’s simple. All Tyson has to do is look up. He doesn’t. He waits, as if it’s something they’re meant to do together. Dante takes that as a hint, free hand grabbing Tyson’s. Dante has seen them hundreds of times before but never like this. They’ll do this together.

“Ready?” Dante asks when the sun moves out from behind a particularly dark cloud. The sky opens, the trees lighten and it’s perfect. When he turns his head up, Tyson, fully grinning, does the same.

He expects a gasp, maybe even an exclamation of glee and downright amazement, neither which come. What he gets instead is a laugh, uncontrolled and giddy, like tiny champagne bubbles tickle his nose— he gets a deep breath, Tyson wiping at the corner of his eye and exhaling with a satisfied, “Shit.”

“What?” Dante asks, eyebrow raised when Tyson turns to him, lowering the glasses down over the bridge of his nose. “It’s not what you were expecting?”

“It _is_ what I was expecting,” Tyson admits, looking up again, this time without the glasses. When he lowers them again, Dante catches the hint of a smile. “But it’s better.”

“Because you can see them?” Dante looks up a second time, too, hearing Tyson’s pleased laugh. Though he doesn’t understand why, he feels special knowing this moment is one Tyson reserved just for the two of them. All because Dante drunkenly, unknowingly _promised_.

“Yeah,” Tyson says, looking around, the wondrous, curious, excited smile finally appearing. “But also because it’s with you.”

Dante’s hand tightens around the bag of donuts, crinkling beneath his grip. Tyson smiles and despite looking absolutely ridiculous, he also looks far too happy, too genuine for Dante to even consider teasing him. It’s far too pure, too innocent for Dante to see it as anything but.

He smiles back, the bag crinkling beneath his hand again when a gust of wind comes between them and Dante’s best defense is to step forward, into Tyson.

They’re not too close, just _closer_ when Dante’s free hand moves the glasses to the top of Tyson’s head. His heart begins to hammer in his chest when Tyson, still smiling, lets it happen. Dante has a feeling he knows, especially when Tyson takes another small step forward, but asks anyway, testing the waters. “What are you thinking?”

Tyson closes the gap, noses bumping when their lips meet. It’s slow and soft and when Dante kisses back, he wonders how kissing Tyson could possibly be sweeter. He thinks of the donuts, how yeah, maybe they’d contribute, _later_ , the bag slipping from his fingers— falling at their feet.

 _It’s fine_ , Dante thinks, hands free, fingers pressing to the back of Tyson’s neck. He can feel Tyson’s hands at his waist— hear the soft sigh when it turns from soft and sweet to a little bit desperate.

And then, just as quickly as the kiss began, it’s over. Dante’s slow to open his eyes, letting himself linger in the moment. It’s something that, in the moment, close and kissing beneath the golden canopy, was perfect— something he hopes is the first of many.

When Tyson pulls back, exhaling, his smile returns. “I think I really like Boston in the fall.”

And Dante suddenly loves it that much more.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me on twitter @ dejadejayou.


End file.
